


Til Death Do You Part

by hotchoco195



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family, Implied miscarriage, Ireland, Mildly dub con, Secret Marriage, Seriously Angsty, Sherlock wants to save everyone, So much angsty history, Sort of kidnapping, molliarty - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 00:06:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotchoco195/pseuds/hotchoco195
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly's having her perfect dream wedding...until Jim arrives to crash it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Til Death Do You Part

 

John tramped into the lounge room and stopped with a sigh.

“Sherlock, get dressed. We have to leave in fifteen minutes.”

“Leave? Whatever for?” the genius looked up from where he was thinking on the couch.

“Molly’s wedding?” John pointed to his suit as if that clarified things.

“What? Molly’s getting married?”

“Yes, today, the invitation’s been on the fridge for the past three months, and if you ever used it for anything but anatomy you might know that.”

“Preposterous. I can’t possibly go on such short notice.” Sherlock shrugged, turning to face the wall again.

“Yes, Sherlock, you are. Molly is nothing but nice and pleasant and helpful to you at St Bart’s, and for once you can do the selfless thing and go to her wedding.”

“I haven’t got her a gift.”

“I already put your name on mine. Now stop making excuses and get up.”

Sherlock grumbled and rolled off the couch in a violent swinging of limbs, but he stalked into his room and closed the door. John sighed.

“Is he not ready then?” Mrs Hudson asked as she came up the steps.

“Course not. That would be too ordinary.”

“I’m really looking forward to this,” the landlady readjusted her pea green hat, “Such a sweet girl. And the Grand Royale? Posh place that. How did they afford it?”

“Scott’s rich, apparently. Or at least his parents are. Told Molly to have whatever she wanted.” John checked his watch.

“That’s nice.”

“Sherlock! Don’t make me come in there!”

The door opened and the detective swept out in one of his usual suits, though he had bothered to wear a tie for once.

“No need to yell, John. Now hurry up, we’ll be late. Looking lovely, Mrs Hudson.”

“Oh Sherlock.” She waved a dismissive hand as he bounded down the stairs.

John rolled his eyes. “Unbelievable.”

 

The ceremony was in Hyde Park. It looked lovely, a big ivy-covered arbour at the altar and rows of white deck chairs with gold satin with a string quartet behind them. Scott was greeting people at the top of the aisle, the usually scruffy young man looking very formal in his suit and gold tie.

“Sherlock! And of course, John and Mrs Hudson! Good to see you!”

“Thank you for the invitation.” Sherlock said flatly.

“I wasn’t sure you’d make it! Glad though – I know Molly would want you to be here.” The brunette smiled.

“Uh, yeah.” Sherlock muttered.

“Let me show you to your seats.”

They followed him to the third row back on the right, amongst some people John recognised from the hospital.

“Well I’ll leave you to settle in. Got to have a quick word with the pastor.” Scott made a face and hurried off.

“He’s very excited.” Mrs Hudson laughed.

“How long is this going to take?”

“Sherlock!”

“Well! It’s a perfectly ordinary waste of time.”

John bit his lip to keep from yelling and looked away. He spotted Lestrade looking lost by the road.

“Greg! Over here!”

“Greg?” Sherlock frowned.

“That’s his name.” John said pointedly as the inspector joined them.

“Hello. Lovely day for it.”

“Isn’t it just?” Mrs Hudson agreed.

“Boring.” Sherlock sighed.

John elbowed him. “Stop it. They’re about to start.”

Sure enough, everyone was in their seats now. Scott stood next to the minister, hands clasped before him. There was an old Rolls Royce parked nearby, and as the door opened the musicians started playing.

“Bach. Brandenburg concertos.” Sherlock muttered.

John wanted to shush him but at least the brunette wasn’t complaining he was bored.

 

Molly stepped out of the car and the guests gave a collective sigh of wonder, standing. She was radiant in a long ivory strapless gown, a cropped lace shrug over the top. She had one bridesmaid, a girl John vaguely placed as one of the nurses? Together they walked across the grass to the white fabric aisle. Molly looked happier than he’d ever seen her, her hair pulled back into a cascade of ringlets over one shoulder. She was beaming at Scott, and he waved back.

“Oh look,” Mrs Hudson said tearfully as they sat, “She’s beautiful.”

Molly reached the altar and handed the nurse her bouquet, taking Scott’s hands.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered today to join these two souls in holy matrimony. The Lord God brings us together, and only he can break such a bond...”

The pastor droned on through a short speech that surprised John, since he didn’t think Molly was the religious type. The couple kept squeezing each other’s hands and he had to admit it was very cute.

“Do you, Margaret Anne Hooper, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.” Molly giggled.

“And do you, Scott Anthony Jacobs, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do.”

“I’m sorry!” a voice broke the moment.

Everyone turned and John stiffened as he recognised Jim Moriarty waltzing down the aisle with his hands in his pockets.

“Hate to interrupt but you’re not quite right there. There’s nothing ‘lawful’ about it.”

Sherlock stood, forcing his way to the aisle. Lestrade had his phone out, calling for back up. John very much wished he had a gun as he followed his flatmate.

Molly was pale. “What are you doing here?”

“Stopping you from committing a crime, silly.”

“You’ve made a mistake coming here, Moriarty.” Sherlock scowled.

“Would you give us a moment Sherly, I’m actually on the side of the law this time.”

Scott tugged at Molly’s hand. “What’s going on? What crime is he talking about?”

“Don’t you know? Of course not. This woman is not who she claims to be.”

“Jim, please just leave it.” Molly said pleadingly.

He strolled closer, eyeing Scott up as he stopped near the altar. “Where did you find this one? He seems a bit thick.”

“”Now hang on-”

“This is Scott. He’s a radiologist at the hospital. I’ve known him for six months.”

“Molly, why won’t you tell me what’s going on? Who is this man?” Scott demanded.

Sherlock raised a brow. “Yes Molly, it seems like we’re all a bit in the dark.”

Jim smiled, licking his lips. “Go on dear. Enlighten them.”

 

Molly looked like she wanted to cry, eyes pleading Jim to just go away. When he didn’t, she glanced at the guests staring and sighed.

“My name’s not Hooper. It’s Moriarty.”

 For a long moment it was like nobody knew what to say. Then Scott pushed his glasses back up his face and scowled.

“I don’t understand.”

Jim regarded him with utter disgust. “She’s my wife, you clod.”

“You’re married?” the groom yelled.

“To Moriarty?” John added incredulously.

“ _Was_ , I was, when we were very young.” Molly said hurriedly.

Jim grimaced. “Well, since we were never actually divorced, technically yes.”

“Jim, shut up and get out of here!” Molly cried, her voice breaking.

“You lied to me.” Scott muttered.

“No, please, I didn’t, things were just really complicated and I didn’t know how to tell you-”

“What, that you were still married? Seems like an easy enough thing to say.”

“Dr Jacobs, there is a lot more to the story than it appears. Jim here is the head of a major criminal syndicate. It’s possible Molly didn’t tell you for your own protection.”

John frowned at the rarity that was Sherlock actually doing something nice for Molly, but Scott seemed less impressed.

“What? How did you even meet this guy, Molly?”

“We were practically kids, I mean we were both different then, please Scott, can we just go somewhere and I’ll explain everything-”

“No. I don’t want to talk about it right now. Maybe we should take some time apart for a while.”

“Scott?” Molly reached for him but he swept down the aisle, breaking into a run across the grass.

Jim stopped regarding his fingernails and clapped his hands together decisively.

“Well! Now that’s done, shall we go home, Mrs Moriarty?”

Molly looked like she was going to slap him, but Sherlock intervened.

“I think the good inspector’s people would rather have a word with you.”

They could hear sirens approaching now. Jim looked at Lestrade, John and Sherlock blocking his path with almost boredom.

“I haven’t done anything wrong. Haven’t broken any laws – in fact, I’ve stopped Molly here from breaking one! And now I’m going to take her home, as is my right.”

“What if she doesn’t want to go?” John objected.

“Oh, I think she will. Maggie?”

 

He held out his hand. Molly looked at him for a minute, eyes darting from his hand to his stern face. She looked past Jim to Sherlock.

“You don’t have to do this. We can look after you.”

“I’m sorry. Really, everyone, I’m sorry.”

She took Moriarty’s hand with a sob.

“There now, darling, it will be alright. After all, you barely knew him. Shall we?”

He turned and led her down the aisle until they came to the blockade. Jim sighed with exasperation.

“Excuse me?”

“You think we’re just going to let you walk out?” Sherlock scoffed.

“You’re forcing me to do something I really didn’t want to, Sherly. I suggest you stay out of this. It’s between husband and wife.”

“Lestrade, handcuffs.”

Jim seized Molly by the neck, a gun suddenly in his hand and pressed against her temple.

“I didn’t want to have to make this threat, Sherlock, but if you continue to interfere in my affairs poor Molly here is going to end up with her brains blown all over that pretty dress.”

“Oh you charmer. I can see why she married you.” The detective drawled.

“I’m very hard to resist. Now, as I was saying, kindly move aside.”

“John, step back.” Sherlock cleared the way.

“Thank you,” Jim smirked, nuzzling Molly’s head, “We’ll be seeing you.”

Sherlock watched with gritted teeth as Jim dragged Molly past, but her face was blank. She made no attempt to get away, even as Jim pocketed his gun and helped her into the old Rolls. He gave Sherlock a final wave before shutting the door and pulling away. The second they were out of sight it was like a spell had been lifted. Sherlock was off and running, John struggling to keep up. They could hear the approaching sirens of Lestrade’s people and saw one car slow down to pick up the inspector.

“Where’s he taking her?” John puffed, rounding the corner of the Park.

“No idea. None of it makes sense.” Sherlock shook his head.

“You don’t think he’d...kill her, do you?”

“He would have done it at the wedding if that was his plan. No, I think Moriarty has something much more elaborate planned.”

As if by some unspoken agreement, both of them picked up their pace, but the car was already long gone.

*****

Molly was quiet for a long moment, trying to get a hold on her emotions. Jim took out his handkerchief and cleaned the tears and makeup off her face.

“I’m sorry about that scene, my love, but you understand I couldn’t let you do it, don’t you?”

She felt a second of comfort from Jim’s voice before she remembered. She kept staring out the window like a zombie.

“Where are we going?”

“Home.”

She didn’t say another word as they drove to the airport. She was escorted out of the car onto Moriarty’s jet, and the two of them were silent until they touched down in Dublin. Another car was waiting for them, and once inside Jim poured two glasses of cognac. He offered to Molly but she ignored it and he shrugged, pouring the contents into his own glass.

“Have you missed it?” he pointed vaguely at the city as they rolled past.

“It’s different.” She said flatly.

“Some things never change though.” He reached out a finger and stroked her cheek, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.

“I’m not feeling very well disposed towards you right now, Jim.” Molly stiffened, edging further away from him on the seat.

“You’ve said that before.”

“What part of me leaving didn’t you understand?”

“The part where you were lying to yourself.”

Molly burst. “I was happy, Jim! I was about to marry a wonderful guy and have a family and pets and a house in the suburbs. Why did you have to come back and take that away from me? Do you hate me that much?”

“Oh no, my darling, I don’t hate you at all. And I want you to be happy.”

Suddenly he was right against her, face looming over hers as he crushed her against the seat.

“But you need to remember who you belong to. No matter where you go, no matter what you do, you will always be mine.”

She just stared up at him gloomily, hands clenched at her side. Jim settled back into his seat and retrieved his drink.

“You lost the right to call me that a long time ago.” She muttered.

“I erred, true. But it’s time to make amends, Maggie my love. We can be as we were again.”

“It’s too late.” She shook her head.

“It’s never too late.”

 

They drove on through the suburbs, out into the open country with the farms and cottages. The scenery was lush and green, bright even in the twilight. Molly had to admit it felt good to see it again, even if the sight made her sad too. After about an hour the car turned into a thin dirt driveway lined with old elms. She could just make out the familiar shape of the house, its broad wings sprawling over the lawn.

“Home sweet home.” Jim sniffed.

They stopped by the door and Jim got out first, coming around to help her with her dress. Molly looked up at the old house with an intense feeling of nostalgic dread. The driver pulled away towards the garage and Jim took her hand, breathing deeply.

“It’s greatly missed your touch, Moll. We both have.”

“Can we just go inside? I want to take this off.”

“Of course.”

The door was already open, a tall thick-set blond leaning in the frame. As they got closer he stood and adjusted his belt.

“Maggie, this is Sebastian Moran. He’s one of my best.”

“Lovely to meet you. Jim’s said lots.”

“Thanks.” She said coldly.

“Isn’t she beautiful? Poor thing’s had a trying day, but she still looks lovely.”

“Anything you need, just let me know.”

“I think we’ll be alright for now Sebastian. Just get my things from the car.”

He nodded and disappeared off towards the garage, and Jim led Molly into the main hall. It was exactly how she remembered it, and not. The same dark wood panelled walls covered in rustic, pastoral paintings and the odd animal head, the same patterned stone floor with the big red rug. The stairs that led from each side of the house and met in the middle where the big arched window was. Except they’d all been wrapped in gold satin draperies, silver cherubs hanging from the staircase. It was like a mockery of her dream reception.

“See? Just how you wanted it.” Jim said quietly.

“You bastard.” She hissed through her teeth.

“I just want to give you your perfect wedding night, my dear.” He tugged, leading her up the stairs at a rush. The hallway, always so claustrophobic, had been scattered with gold rose petals. Jim dragged her down to an open door and pushed her through.

 

It was the master bedroom, large, sumptuous and very country manor with dark green walls and floor-to-ceilings windows, the curtains drawn.

“Do you remember our wedding night, Molly? How I carried you up all those windy stairs to the crappy hotel room that was all we could afford, and then took you for days?”

“Why am I here, Jim? If you wanted to make me miserable you didn’t have to drag me to Ireland to do it.”

Jim pouted “I told you darling. You’re my _wife_.”

“And what if I don’t want to be?” she shouted.

“You did once.”

Molly gaped. “That was a long time ago, James!”

Jim looked honestly confused, and even a little hurt. “I thought people accepted their loved ones regardless of their flaws.”

“This is not a case of leaving the toilet seat up or not taking the bins out, Jim.”

His face hardened. “You never seemed to mind my ambitions before we were married.”

“I didn’t mind after. I minded that you kept me in the dark! You went away for days at a time without telling me where you were going or when you’d be back. I was worried about you constantly, Jim, and then one day I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Was being married to me so terrible?”

She shook her head. “When it was good, it was wonderful.”

“And you thought that was fair, did you? Walking out on me? Not giving me a chance to change?”

“Can you change, Jim? Would you have listened or laughed my concerns away?”

“I would have made things right, because you were my whole heart!” Jim yelled.

“Were?” Molly tilted her head, tone cynical.

Jim’s eyes flashed. “Are, and always will be.”

Molly looked down at her wedding dress with a sob. “It’s not that simple Jim. You can’t just click your fingers and undo everything.”

“Then why did you come with me?”

“I don’t know! Because you’re Jim? Because I’m insane? But I’m serious, Jim. I love Scott and you forced him out of my life. You’re as selfish as ever.”

“Selfish? You think he deserved you? You think he would have made you happy? Don’t fool yourself, Maggie. You would have spent your whole life pining for me, searching for me in that pathetic wet mop.”

“You can’t just bring me here and expect me to forget the last ten years, James. You can’t magically fix everything.”

“Honey, I can do fucking anything.”

 

 Jim grabbed her roughly, tearing down the zip of her dress. He ripped it apart in strips, dragging the whole mess off her before flinging it in the corner. Molly flinched away as he curled his fingers in her hair, cupping the back of her head so he could twist her neck. He dragged the curls out of the way until he could see the small crown marked behind her ear.

“You’ve still got it. Can’t have wanted to be rid of me too badly, then. Did he ever see it? Did you tell him what it meant?”

“Of course not,” she sobbed, “I never told anyone.”

Jim swung her into his arms, chest pressed up against her back until the lacing of her white corset dug into his flesh.

“I’m part of you Maggie, in your skin, in your head, in your fucking blood! And you thought you could marry Mr Perfect and forget that?”

“You seemed to!” she yelled, struggling slightly against his grip on her arms, “You never came looking for me, not once.”

“Oh!” Jim snapped upright, releasing her so quickly she stumbled forward and caught herself on the bed.

“So now we get to the real problem. You thought I didn’t care. You thought I’d become so wrapped up in my work I didn’t even notice you’d left, is that it?”

“No-”

“When you left, I thought about chasing you. I would have carried you back but I didn’t want to make you unhappy. If you really didn’t want me anymore, I wasn’t going to make you stay.”

“I wanted you, Jim. I just wanted you to want me.”

He licked his lips hungrily and her jaw quivered. Jim tore off his jacket, falling to his knees at Molly’s feet.

“I’m going to show you now, Maggie. Just you see.”

“Oh, Jamie.”

He surged forward and kissed her, their arms wrapping around each other as Molly fell back on the bed. Jim kicked off his shoes and pushed himself closer against her, hips wriggling as Molly wrapped stockinged legs around his waist.

 

She got his tie off as he tore the delicate satin of her corset straight down the middle. Molly countered by tugging at his shirt until the buttons popped, forcing it down his arms. She trailed her fingertips over the crown tattooed above Jim’s heart.

“Maggie.” He breathed.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything.” Her eyes filled with tears.

He bent down and kissed her, wrapping his fingers in her hair. Jim stood and took off his pants quickly while Molly moved up the mattress and peeled off her stockings. He moved back over her and she clutched him, as if afraid she would lose him again.

“Oh Jim.”

He guided himself into her and Molly gave a breathy cry at the victorious look in his eyes.

“Did you miss me, Mags?”

“Til it hurt.”

He kissed her shoulder and started to move. “You have no idea how many nights I dreamed of having you back here.”

“How many?” she arched up against him.

“Every.”

*****

“You mean to say you never looked up James Moriarty by his real name?” John stared at his flatmate.

Sherlock gave him a scornful look. “Of course I did. But I thought he was from Brighton, didn’t I?”

He went back to pulling the census tomes off the shelf, piling them up in John’s arms.

“He’s Irish.”

“Has the faintest trace of an accent. I deduced he’d migrated as a very small boy, meaning he should have shown up in the immigration records but he never did.”

“Well if Moriarty’s his real name, why wouldn’t he be in there?” John frowned.

“Because he didn’t come into the country as James Moriarty. Irish family, could have been political, very possible his parents were sent here as spies or conspirators and would have used a different name.”

“Right. So the violence is hereditary then?”

“It would explain some things, yes.”

Sherlock waved John over to a long empty table and spread out the books.

“Now, we just have to make a list of every James Moriarty born in Ireland between about 1970 and 1980.”

“Are you serious?” John’s jaw dropped.

“Better get started, doctor.”

 

Molly woke before Jim. He was stretched out so casually over the bed that she didn’t want to disturb him. Grabbing his shirt off the floor, she buttoned herself up and headed downstairs to the kitchen. It was exactly as she’d left it, neat and twee with a row of photos over the stove. She smiled, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Sorry – didn’t know anyone was in here.”

She turned quickly, startled. Sebastian was standing in the open doorway averting his eyes. She tugged at the bottom of the shirt shyly.

“No, my fault. I forgot there was someone else in the house.”

“I take it you and the boss have made up then? Things were a bit chilly yesterday.”

She cleared her throat. “I don’t know if we’re quite there yet, but it’s better.”

“That’s you, yeah? In the photos?”

Molly grinned. “Unfortunately.”

“I never asked Jim about them. He always got this nasty scowl whenever anyone reminded him of you.”

She beckoned him. “I can tell you. This one on the left? That’s us making mud pies when we were six.”

“You’ve known each other a long time.”

“Our parents were neighbours until we were thirteen. Then they moved to England for a few years so Jim could study. He was brilliant, much too clever for school here. They put him through Oxford.”

“And then he came back?”

“Oh he used to come back and visit all the time. Get me into trouble more often than not. This one?”

She pointed to the middle photo, a pair of teenagers sitting on top of a wall.

“We were sixteen. He’d stolen a bottle of whiskey from his grandfather and we snuck out to get drunk in the woods. Climbed up there and wouldn’t come down again until sunrise. He told me all about how he was going to change the world.”

“And this one?” Sebastian pointed to the last picture. It was her, asleep on the couch with her hands on her stomach. She was about twenty, her hair sun-streaked and wild.

Molly looked away. “I don’t even know why that’s up there.”

“To remind me of things I lost that year.” Jim said softly as he came in.

“Morning boss. Breakfast?” Sebastian looked guilty.

“We’ll take it upstairs.”

“Right away.”

“Come back to bed, Mags.”

She took his hand and walked slowly back through the halls.

“Why did you keep that photo?”

“Because I wanted it to still be true. There’s one of us at the church on my desk for the same reason. Though I must admit I’ve had to replace the frame about seven times.”

Molly wrapped her arm around his waist and said nothing as they climbed back into bed.

*****

“And we’ve got no idea where they went?” John looked at Lestrade.

The inspector consulted his notes. “Got on a plane in the private section of Heathrow, no idea where it went after that.”

“Ridiculous. There must be a way to track it.” Sherlock muttered, biting his thumb as he stared out the window.

“Disappeared off radar, not listed point of arrival.”

“He would have needed her passport.” John frowned.

“Moriarty knew the second he got to that wedding Molly was going to leave with him. Of course he had her passport.”

“Sherlock, maybe we shouldn’t be looking for her.”

He turned to glare at Lestrade but Greg held his hand up.

“Hear me out. She’s his wife, after all. She went with him.”

“On the day she was supposed to marry another man – I think if she had wanted to be with Moriarty, she would have done it a bit sooner.”

“Well what are we gonna do? Swoop in and rescue her? We don’t even know where they are.” John protested.

Sherlock smiled. “I’ve got a few ideas where we can start.”

 

Molly shook her head. “When was the last time you went shopping? There’s stuff in this pantry with dust on it so thick I could knit a scarf with it.”

Jim looked bashful. “I’m in London most of the year. I’ll have Sebastian clean it out.”

“I can do it,” Molly shrugged, “I’m sure you’ve got better uses for Mr Moran.”

“He’ll probably be glad to give up some of the cooking and shopping.”

“Where did you find him anyway? He seems a bit rough to be running your household.”

“He runs whatever I ask of him.”

Molly stopped poking through the cupboard at his tone. She glanced over her shoulder at the consulting criminal.

“You’re not going to elaborate?”

“Should I?” Jim met her gaze levelly.

Molly sighed and sat at the counter next to him. “I’m not afraid of what you do, Jim. I saw it, when you were playing with Sherlock? I know that your business has expanded a bit since we lived together and I’m not going to run away screaming. You can tell me things.”

He pouted. “I think I like you not knowing. It gives me some space from it, if there’s someone I can talk to about other things.”

“Alright. Then you won’t tell me anything unless I need to know it.” She kissed his cheek.

“Speaking of things you need to know, your things should be arriving today.”

Molly smiled. “So I can finally stop wearing your sweaters and shirts?”

“I don’t know,” Jim grabbed her arse, “I think they might look better on you.”

“You think I look better in nothing at all.”

“Very true. Maybe you should demonstrate.”

She grinned wickedly and climbed up on the counter, tugging Jim to her by his belt loops. Molly folded her arms around him with a kiss that was sweet and short and bursting with a sense of kisses to come.

“Ah, um, sorry, I’ll come back-”

“Sebastian?” Jim turned his head.

The blond scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry boss, didn’t know you were, uh, in here.”

“I feel the need to take my lady on a picnic. Pack us a basket, would you?”

“Right away.”

 

Molly held Jim’s hand as he carried their lunch through the soft grass behind the house. There was a brook just beyond the fence line, and the trees were full of the cool smell of it.

“What do you think?”

“Looks like a good spot.” Molly grinned.

She laid out the picnic rug and sat back while Jim unpacked.

“It’s exactly like old times.” She laughed suddenly.

“Hmm?” Jim looked up, “What is?”

“This. Running about in the woods playing soldiers when we were kids. And then sneaking out there to get high and fool around when we were older. Seems like we were always outside.”

“It was generally much nicer out there.” Jim shrugged.

“Plus it was easier to get into trouble.” She stuck her tongue out.

“I was planning to propose to you in the woods.” He uncorked the champagne, pouring her a glass.

“Really? When?”

“It was never a definite idea, just a sort of feeling that if I was going to do it at all it should be somewhere peaceful and quiet.”

“And instead you decided sod that and blurted it out in the kitchen?” Molly giggled.

“I couldn’t wait a second longer. All my grand ideas went out the window.” He kissed her.

Molly served up for them both, carefully not looking at her husband.

“So am I a secret?”

“A secret?” Jim said mysteriously, crunching away happily.

“I mean, are we supposed to stay hidden in the house or can we go out? You know, if I want to go shopping or to dinner or see the family.”

“You want to see the family?” he looked down, spearing a tomato with his fork a little too roughly.

“Well I think I should. I haven’t visited in ten years, only spoken to Mum on the phone now and then.”

Jim cleared his throat. “Mags, Sherlock will be trying to find us. He thinks you’re a damsel in distress and he wants to catch me. It won’t take him too long to find your people, and then he’ll have them watched or questioned.”

“So we _are_ hiding – from Sherlock?”

“He’s clever, Maggie. I promise you when we’ve had time to prepare, you can see everyone and we can go back to town but for now I just want to lie low in the house and ignore him.”

“I’m sure if I talk to Sherlock, explain that I’m fine and he can stop looking...” she trailed off at Jim’s grimace.

“Maggie dear, he’s Sherlock Holmes. Have you ever seen him give up on a case yet?”

“I suppose you’re right. Okay, housebound it is. You’ll just have to keep me entertained.”

“I’m sure I can manage that.”

*****

“John! John, get up and pack!”

The ex-soldier rubbed his eyes wearily, turning over in bed at the heavy footfalls of his flatmate on the stairs.

“What is it now, Sherlock?”

The detective burst in, waving a piece of paper. “A trail! That’s what it is, John, at last!”

“A what? Sit down, it’s making me tired just watching you jump about.”

“I found a marriage certificate, see? James Moriarty and Margaret Hooper, 1997, Carlow County.”

“Hooper? She said that wasn’t her name.”

“It’s her maiden name. I looked for birth certificates but there are none.”

“Moriarty probably had them destroyed, yeah?” John sat up to examine the sheet.

“No, unrelated fire in the town record offices actually. But it’s a start John! Get up and pack.”

“What, you want to go to Carlow now?” John checked his watch, “It’s one in the morning!”

Sherlock looked at him. “You’re right. No point going now. No one will be awake to talk to until six at least. We’ll leave at three, go back to sleep.”

He stormed out, John glaring after him. “And shut the door behind you!”

 

It was a grumpy tired John who sat next to Sherlock in the taxi from Dublin to Carlow. He looked out over the grey light and green fields with a sigh.

“It’s pretty.”

“Hard to imagine Moriarty coming from a place like this.” Sherlock muttered.

“Do you know where we’re going? You know, when we actually get to Carlow.”

The brunette held up an address on a torn scrap of paper. “Mrs Hooper’s.”

“You think they’d be staying with Molly’s mum?”

Sherlock gave him a scorching look. “No, but I think she might know where they _are_ staying.”

“You don’t even know they’re in Ireland. Jim’s rich and smart. He knows you can track them down here. They could be in Tahiti or Iceland or Kenya or something.”

“People are predictable John, even when they’re as clever as Moriarty. He took Molly from the wedding as some sort of territorial claim. Whether he wants to win her back or not, he’ll take her somewhere familiar, comforting. It will make her easier to handle.”

“You’re still convinced she doesn’t want to be here?”

“John, he pulled a gun on her. At her own wedding. If that’s the kind of spousal abuse Moriarty considers marriage, then I’d say she did the right thing leaving.”

John tried to nap the last half hour of the journey, but the occasional bumps in the road made it difficult to get more than a few minutes at a time. As they pulled into the small town, Sherlock elbowed him.

“We’re here.”

“Yeah thanks, I got that.”

The cab turned down a few streets before stopping outside a thin grey two-storey house in a row of ones just like it.

“This is it?” Sherlock checked.

“Same as what you told me.”

“Thank you.” The detective threw some notes at him and hurried out.

“I’ll uh, I’ll get the bags then.” John smiled tightly.

He shouldered his pack and Sherlock’s satchel, waving the cabbie off. Sherlock was already knocking on the bright red front door.

“Sherlock, it’s early. Maybe we should come back in an hour?”

“Can’t risk missing her if she’s at work.” He knocked again.

After a brief delay they could hear someone inside, and then the locks clicking back. The door opened to show a petite woman with Molly’s light brown hair, though hers was greying at the roots. She had a warm face, quite lined around the mouth for her age, and a neat but cheap blouse and skirt.

“Hello? Can I help you?”

“Mrs Hooper?”

“Yes.”

“I’m looking for your daughter Margaret.”

“Maggie? We haven’t seen her in over ten year. She’s not in some sort of trouble, is she?”

“She may be, Mrs Hooper. My name is Sherlock Holmes, I am a private detective. This is my assistant Dr John Watson. May we come in?”

 

She looked uncertain but waved them through anyway.

“We can talk in the living room. Do you boys need something to drink?”

“Uh, we’re fine thanks.” John said as they sat on the dumpy green couch.

“So you say Maggie’s in trouble?”

“Have you heard from her recently?”

“She calls me sometimes. Last time I spoke to her would have been about three weeks.”

“Did you know she was getting married?” Sherlock pressed.

“She’d mentioned something. Didn’t give me the details though. She was always careful not to say too much about where she was living or what she was doing.” Mrs Hooper looked unhappy.

“Because of James Moriarty?”

Her face blanched. “This isn’t about him is it?”

“We have reason to believe they’re together, yes. We know they’re married.” Sherlock folded his hands in his lap.

“We were hoping you might know where they are, so we can make sure Molly’s okay.” John added.

“I don’t know. Like I said, I haven’t seen my daughter for ten years.”

“And Jim?”

There was a ring like a bell from another room and Mrs Hooper got up.

“Just a moment.” She disappeared quickly.

“She’s afraid of him.” John muttered.

“Isn’t everyone?” Sherlock shrugged, “If she cares at all about Molly she’ll help us.”

Mrs Hooper re-entered, helping a much older woman wrapped in a shawl to the rocking chair by the TV.

“Gran, this is Mr Holmes and Dr Watson.”

She gave them a cursory look and kept on waddling towards her chair.

“This is my mother-in-law, Ella.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mrs Hooper.” John waved.

“Hmph. What do they want?”

“They had some questions about Margaret.”

“Oh? What kind of questions?”

“They think she’s gone back to Jim.”

“Ha! Of course she has. I’ve never seen a pair more inseparable than those two rascals.”

Molly’s mother looked exasperated as she settled Mrs Hooper’s blankets over her, but Sherlock pounced.

“Do you know where they might be?”

“I dare say I do.”

“Gran!”

“Don’t fuss. I’m not going to tell them.”

“Please, Mrs Hooper. Molly – Margaret – might be in danger. Jim Moriarty is a very volatile man.” John said pleadingly.

“You think I don’t know that? Lived down the road from him since he was born. But he wouldn’t hurt Maggie. I always knew she’d see sense about things.”

“I’ve got to get to school,” Mrs Hooper checked her watch, “I’ll show you gentlemen out.”

“Mrs Hooper, we’re talking about your child! You won’t tell us anything that might help her?” Sherlock stood.

Molly’s mother was white but her mouth was a hard line. “She’s a grown-up person and she can make her own decisions. Now I might not have agreed when they first got married, being so young and all, but I know better than to interfere in their business. I think it’s best you go now.”

 

They trooped out looking defeated. Mrs Hooper walked down the street the way they’d come, leaving Sherlock and John to trudge further into town.

“She knows where they are. They both do.” Sherlock cursed.

“Did you see her face when we mentioned Jim? She’s terrified of him.”

“Stands to reason he started his tyranny young. She must know what he’s like, and that he’s married to her daughter. What mother wouldn’t be terrified?”

“But it means he’s close, right? Or close enough to be a threat.”

“The grandmother’s a strange old bird. She seems _glad_ about the whole thing.”

“We could go back? Try to get her to tell us where they are?”

Sherlock shook his head. “She wouldn’t tell. She’s too loyal. No, I think if we take the day to see what else we can find out and try Mrs Hooper again tonight we might be able to convince her Molly’s life is more important.”

“So what do we do until then?”

“Find a hotel, ask around. Local pub’s usually the best place to start.”

They found the pub at one end of the main street. It was a cheerful place, still empty at this hour, but as John signed for their room Sherlock bent the owner’s ear.

“Moriarty? Aye, we know them alright. Been Moriartys in this place since before the invasion.”

“Do you know where he might be?”

The owner shrugged. “Haven’t seen him in a few years, nor the young missus. Nice girl that.”

“Yes, but do you know where they might be?” Sherlock sighed.

“Seems to me that’s not my place to say. Sorry gents.”

He handed them a room key and wandered off. Sherlock slapped the counter in frustration.

“If everyone’s gonna give us that answer we’ll never get anywhere.” John shook his head.

“Everyone’s afraid. And small towns, they don’t like strangers and aren’t likely to give up one of their own to us.”

“What do we do then?”

“Keep trying. Someone, somewhere, is bound to hate Jim enough to tell us.”

 

They stowed the bags in their room and headed back out onto the street.

“Should we try the school?”

“Too risky if Mrs Hooper sees us. I was thinking the grocer. Everybody shops, right?”

They walked along, marking places to try later, until they came to a sizable shop. There was a small queue at the counter of people grabbing their morning paper or coffee, and Sherlock and John fell in behind them.

“We can’t ask around too much, they’ll get suspicious. Word spreads in villages like these – Mrs Hooper’s probably already tipped off anyone who’d be really useful to us.” Sherlock mumbled.

They took a step closer to the register as the old man in front of them was served.

“We just have to be careful who we ask then.” John replied.

The grocer finished sealing up his packet. “There you go, Father.”

“Thank you Joseph. Say hello to your mother for me.”

“Will do.”

The priest turned and smiled at them. “Good morning, children.”

“Morning Father.” John nodded.

“Can I have a word, actually? We’re new in town and I needed to ask a few questions, and you look like you know everyone.” Sherlock put on one of his approachable grins.

“Sure, sure. I’ve been here my whole life.”

“As the minister?”

“Since I was very young, yes. Do you mind if we walk apiece, sir? I’ve got to get back to the church.”

They followed him out of the shop and away from the main street.

“It’s a lovely place, isn’t it? And you were born here you say?”

“Yep, at the old family home, just like all the others. Carlow’s a beautiful place to grow up, quiet and neighbourly. Course it’s changed a bit, but not like the big cities.”

“So you’d know the local history then? All the best stories.”

“Oh sure. What did you want to know?”

“How about some colourful characters then? You know, the ones the whole town talks about?”

“Plenty of those in a small town. All the children run in packs, getting up to mischief. Makes my life difficult, I can tell ya.”

A woman passing them on the sidewalk bobbed her head. “Morning Father Moriarty.”

“Morning child.”

John clutched Sherlock’s arm.

“What about this old house you mentioned? You said your family were all born there? You must be one of the original founders of the town then.”

“Oh no, people have lived here since they made their axes out of stone. But we did build the house about four hundred years ago, and every generation since has come into the world under that roof.”

“I’d love to see it. It must be very grand.” Sherlock grinned.

“Impossible. It’s empty most of the time, but my nephew lives there.”

“Not _Jim_ Moriarty?”

“You know him?” the priest’s friendly look got a bit more forced.

“Knew him in London. John, what a turn up! We come on a holiday and end up a stone’s throw from old Jim!”

“Unbelievable.” John chimed in.

“I’d love to see him if he’s here.”

“Well I can’t help you there. Haven’t seen him in months.”

“Shame.”

By this stage they’d reached the church. Sherlock put his hands in his pockets cheerfully.

“We won’t keep you, Father, but we might stop by again to get some more history.”

“Alright boys. Have a good day.”

“You too!” Sherlock waved as he disappeared inside.

“Sherlock, he’s Moriarty’s uncle.”

“I know.”

“The village priest.”

“Makes you wonder which one of them’s the black sheep, doesn’t it? But he’s given us what we need John. House that’s four hundred years old? Sort of thing a town’s proud of. They must have some information about it.” Sherlock started looking around.

“Where are we going then?”

“The library.”

 

Armed with a photocopied map of the county, Sherlock and John took off on foot.

“You know, it’s a good thing I’ve stayed in shape,” John puffed, “Since you’ve decided we should tramp around Ireland all day.”

“Oh stop complaining. We were never going to get here any other way.”

“Yes, but how does that lack of transport fit into your brilliant plan, Sherlock? If Molly is there, how are we going to escape with her on foot? Moriarty will have a car – probably a whole fleet of them.”

“Then we’ll borrow one.”

They were squelching along in the mud by the side of the road when it turned off into a wide dirt path lined with trees. Sherlock stopped to consult the map.

“This it?” John looked around.

“I think so. There’s no signage but you can see recent tyre tracks in the lane.”

“So what’s our plan? Jim’s probably got cameras set up around the place. He might have already seen us. And God knows what other kinds of protection he’s got, or how many men. Sherlock, maybe we should call in some help.”

“He won’t have men, he doesn’t like anyone to see his face, and in a small town the people would think it unusual. It’ll be one or two of his best personnel, probably two if he needs help keeping Molly contained.”

“And we’re sure he’s here?”

“Seems likely.”

“Alright,” John drew his gun, “So just creep through the trees then and hope for the best?”

“You’ve navigated warzones, John. I’m sure you can handle possible tripwires in the grass.”

“And if it’s worse than tripwires?”

Sherlock ignored him, slinking forward. He scanned the trees and ground around them before waving John forward a few steps. Carefully, slowly, the two inched closer to the house a metre at a time, staying hidden as best they could.

“I expected more precautions.” Sherlock muttered, looking cheated.

“Maybe he feels safe here. Or maybe his men are just so good he doesn’t need to worry.”

“Definitely the latter.” A rifle clicked behind them.

Sherlock raised his hands, turning to see the tall blond pointing the barrel at them from around a tree to their right.

“Drop the gun, Dr Watson.”

John threw it on the grass and kicked it away.

“Thank you. Now then, let’s go up to the house and have a chat.”

 

They were frog marched up the driveway, hands still above their heads. John gave a whistle as they got to the front doors.

“It’s impressive.”

“It’s four hundred years old, of course it’s impressive.”

“Take a right, stop by that door.” The shooter ordered.

Sherlock’s head swivelled like a top as he tried to take in all the detail of the Moriarty family home, absorbing this rare look into Jim’s psyche. They came to a thick oak door and stopped.

“Knock.” John complied, keeping his movements steady.

“Come in!”

He opened the door and entered, Sherlock a step behind. Jim sat behind a huge desk in a sweater and slacks, pushing a laptop to one side.

“Ah thank you, Sebastian. I can take it from here.”

The guard looked unhappy about it but he lowered his gun. “Tea?”

“Please.”

He left, shutting the door behind him. Jim waved at the chairs in front of him.

“Sit.”

“Where’s Molly?” Sherlock said.

“Upstairs sleeping, last I saw. But you could do me a favour and keep your voices down. I don’t want to wake her.”

“Why are you doing this?” Sherlock sneered, “You didn’t come forward for ten years and then as soon as you felt your claim threatened you spirit her away?”

“Is it so hard for you to believe that I love her, Sherlock?” Jim looked amused, “I mean, we are married. Obviously there’s some sentiment there.”

“You don’t love anyone, not even yourself.”

“I have to disagree with you there. Please, sit. Sebastian will be back in a moment with our tea.”

Sherlock scowled but sat, and John followed his example.

“I refuse to think that Molly would give up her whole life in London, including a man she loved, to come back here with you. Especially since she never called to tell us where she was or if she was okay.”

“I don’t blame you. You’re simply making a deduction from the data at hand. But Maggie and I have a whole history that you don’t know and probably couldn’t understand.”

“Then give me the data.”

“Oh I don’t think so. You trespass on my property, intending to break into my house and kidnap my wife, and now you expect me to sit here and give you information about us that could be detrimental? You’ve got some odd ideas about hospitality Sherly.”

 

The door opened and Sebastian brought in a tray, setting it up on the desk so they could help themselves.

“Thank you, Sebastian.”

“Bodyguard and butler? Bit contradictory.” Sherlock curled his lip as he left.

“Moran looks after our needs, whatever that entails. If I asked, he would slit both your throats and throw you down the well and Maggie would never know you were here.”

“People saw us – in town.” John said quickly.

“Yes. The town my ancestors helped build. I’m sure their memories would be very sketchy on the subject if someone asked. Sugar?”

“If you were going to kill us you wouldn’t be serving tea and scones. Since I doubt you brought us in here merely to show off your china, how about we get to the point Jim?”

Jim took a sip and sat back. “Fine. Sherlock, Maggie and I are happy together. We’ve been apart a long time and we’re making up for it. I don’t need you interfering and making her upset with your wild accusations about my intentions. Go back to London and leave us alone.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Too bad. It’s that or the well.”

Molly’s voice called from the hall. “Jim?”

Sherlock set down his tea as the criminal’s eyes widened almost fearfully.

“Jim?” she opened the door and stopped suddenly, “What’s going on? Sherlock?”

“Molly. I’m glad you’re safe.”

“What are you doing here?” she seemed to remember she was wearing just a thin nightgown and crossed her arms over her chest.

“We came to take you home.”

“We were worried, Molly. The way things ended at the wedding...” John cleared his throat.

“That’s sweet of you. It was a pretty awful day, wasn’t it?” she laughed nervously.

Sherlock stood. “Are you alright? He hasn’t hurt you, or kept you locked up, or...taken advantage?”

She looked up into his blue eyes and shook her head. “Jim’s fine. We sorted it out alright. You didn’t need to come all this way and check on me, Sherlock.”

She walked around the desk and Jim pushed his chair back, letting her sit on his lap.

“You see, Sherly? Nothing going on here but marital bliss. Sorry you wasted your time.”

“Molly, you can’t stay here with him. He’s dangerous and unstable, not to mention he’s a killer. You got away from him once before, we can help you do it again.”

“Sherlock, I know Jim. He’s a bit unique, and he has some different ideas about right and wrong, but he’s been that way since we were children. I knew that when I married him and it’s not why I left.”

“You can’t stay here.” Sherlock’s voice dropped, his eyes almost pleading.

“But I want to. Jim makes me happy. There are no good and evil people in the world Sherlock, just good and evil acts, and as far as I’m concerned Jim is good. I love him.”

 

“What about Scott?”

Molly flinched and Moriarty glared into his tea.

“Scott was a nice man, but I hadn’t known him that long really. Six months can’t compete with thirty years.”

“Molly, your judgement is compromised by your emotions. You may have known Jim since you were little but that doesn’t change who he is now. He cares nothing for anyone.”

“Wrong again, Sherlock. I think you’ve set a new record today!” Jim smirked.

“Sherlock, go home. I’m back where I belong, with my family and my husband, and it’s going to be perfect this time because we both know what went wrong before. We’re going to have kids and pets and take trips to the seaside, and if we have to travel for Jim’s work that’s okay.”

John sniffed. “So you’re just going to stay? Sleep next to him every night and raise his children and ignore what he’s doing.”

“I don’t care what he does for work. It only matters what he does inside this house.”

“You’re so far in denial you honestly can’t see it.” Sherlock scowled.

“No, Sherlock. I accept Jim. That’s all.”

Molly reached forward and grabbed a photo frame off the desk, spinning it to face Sherlock. It showed a very young Molly and Jim in their finest, standing on the steps of the church they’d seen that morning and grinning at the camera hand in hand.

“This is my life, Sherlock. Not who I was in London. Don’t you see I honestly don’t want to go back?”

Sherlock looked at the picture intently for a moment, then scanned Molly’s face. His eyes flicked to meet Jim’s and then he looked away.

 

“Right. Come along John.” He buttoned his jacket.

“That’s it? We’re going?”

“Yes. Molly doesn’t need saving.”

“I think that’s open to debate.”

“No, she’s not deluded. She’s not blinded by love. She and Jim are inseparable, just like Ella said. Good luck to you.” He turned and swept out of the room.

John put down his tea. “Uh, thanks, for that. And uh, thanks for not killing us...and I guess good luck as well.”

“Thank you John. Tell him I’ll call sometimes, if he wants.”

“Sure.”

He hurried out after his flatmate, who was already halfway down the drive.

“That’s it? We’re really going and Moriarty’s just letting us?”

“Yes.”

“He’s not worried we’ll tell everyone where he is?”

“He’s not.”

“Why?”

“Because we won’t.”

John stopped. “Sherlock!”

The detective paused. “I catch criminals, John. I enjoy the chase, picking apart the clues they left behind. Moriarty is the biggest criminal of them all, the greatest challenge of my career. I want to catch him, yes. I want to make the world safe from him. But I won’t send Mycroft’s agents swarming into the seventeenth century Moriarty country manor to drag him out. Even if I could forgive myself for doing that to Molly, it would be pointless. He’d worm his way out of the charges. For all that he gives the orders, Moriarty has never committed a crime.”

“He killed Carl Powers.”

“He was thirteen, I don’t think that will hold up in court. No John, we just have to let them be and wait for him to slip up.”

He started down the lane again and John followed, kicking the dirt in frustration.

 

“That was very nicely done, darling,” Jim squeezed her close, “You handled the stubbornest Holmes all by yourself.”

“You’re not going to kill them, are you? Now that they’ve seen the house?”

“No, Sherly’s no snitch. He knows trying to take me in would be pointless. He wants to catch me himself. That’s his weakness.”

“So we don’t have to leave?”

“No.”

“And I can go see my mum and my gran?”

“Tonight, if you like. Probably for the best actually, since Sherlock must have given them a rattling.”

Molly laid her head back on his chest. “Thanks Jim.”

“For what?”

“Ruining my wedding.”

He laughed and kissed her head. “Any time.”

 

 

 


End file.
